I Want You Back formatted version
by Madelyn
Summary: Songfic, "Comfortable by John Mayer, reformatted.
1. Default Chapter

            I was sitting at work, and I should have been concentrating on finishing my presentation, because it was almost five thirty and I had dinner plans at seven.  But for the past couple of days, I couldn't concentrate on anything.  Ever since Jenn had found my picture box under the sweatshirts in my closet.  Monica always used to try to get me to organize them in a photo album, but she just wanted another chance to implement her new cross-referencing photo system.  She understood that I had a method to my madness.  She understood a lot of things about me.

            I was cleaning out my closet, because, well, it was March (old habits die hard) and Jenn stopped over on her way home from work.  I had everything all over the place, and she offered to help me finish up.  I really didn't want her help, but how do you tell your girlfriend that you'd rather clean your closet out by yourself?  So I just thanked her and we started folding sweaters.  I went to the bathroom, and when I came back, she was organizing my picture box.  

            "Jenn," I said, "What are you doing?"

            "Oh, I was just trying to organize your photos.  I don't know how you find anything in here."

            "It's okay, you don't have to do that." I said reaching for the box, which she pulled out of my grasp.

            "No, it's fine, I want to."

            "I actually kind of have a system, so..." I tried again for the box.

            "Oh... well okay.  I just thought-"

            "No, I get it, but really, it's okay." I said, maybe a little too harshly, because she looked hurt.  And I didn't want to be mean... it was just one more thing that Monica understood and she couldn't.  

            Later, when she left, I was getting into bed and I saw something flutter to the floor.  When I picked it up, it was a picture of her.  Jenn must have been looking at it before I came in, and left it out.  It was this great picture... one of those pictures that really capture the moment, when the color is just right and the light is perfect and the person looks so natural.  She was sitting on my couch, reading the newspaper.  I remembered that morning.  I had one more picture left on the roll, and we were about to go to the grocery store, so I wanted to get rid of it so I could get it developed.  She looked up and grinned for me as I snapped it haphazardly and threw her her jacket.  And it turned out to be the best picture I ever took.

_I just remembered that time at the market_

_You snuck up behind me and jumped on my shopping cart_

_And rolled down Aisle Five_

_You looked behind you and smiled back at me_

_Crashed into a rack full of magazines_

_They asked us_

_If we could leave._

            That day, at the grocery store, was one of the best times I've ever had.  I know that sounds stupid or... sad, really.  But it was.  We split up, because I needed detergent and she needed orange juice.  I was torn between Tide and Downey when she reached over my shoulder and picked one of the boxes up. 

            "Works much better on those tough stains," she said grinning.  I smiled back.

            "Thanks, I liked you in the commercial." I said teasingly.  She swatted my shoulder, then kissed me suddenly.  When we pulled away, our foreheads lingered together.

            "I feel like I'm seventeen all the sudden." I told her quietly.  "Everything feels so-"

            "I know." she said, silencing me.  "Me too." A mischevious grin came over her porcelain features and she reached behind me and jumped into my nearly empty shopping cart.  

            "Give me a push." she said laughing.

            "Monica!", I protested.

            "Don't be such an old man!" she argued.  That was it.  "Oh I'll give you a push." I said as I sent her sailing down Aisle Five, Detergents and Cleaning Products.  Halfway down the aisle, she threw her hands up in the air, and amidst the disapproving glares from more mature shoppers, she turned around and smiled at me.  Next thing I knew, she crashed into the magazine rack.  I ran to help her out of the cart, and we both couldn't stop laughing as the manager asked us if we could leave the premises immediately.  

            It was the only time I can remember having so much fun in a supermarket.

_Can't remember_

_What went wrong last September_

_Though I'm sure you'd remind me_

_If you had too_

_Our love was _

_Comfortable and so broken in..._

            But that was a long time ago.  It had been nearly a year since they had broken up, for reasons that he could barely remember, reasons that a year ago had meant so much.  Things were getting too serious, he vaguely remembered telling her.  They were too young.  It was going too fast.  He wanted to slow down.  At first, he thought she had taken it really well.  But things were weird between them.  She was upset about it.  When she finally told him she thought they should see other people, it was like a bomb being dropped on him.  He begged her to reconsider, tried to explain himself, told her he hadn't meant what he'd said, he was just scared... but it was all in vain, because the damage had been done and she didn't believe him.  And just as quickly as she had came into his life, she left.

_I sleep with this new girl I'm still getting used to_

_My friends all approve, say she's gonna be good for me_

_They throw me high fives._

_She swears the Bible is all that she reads_

_And prefers that I not use profanity_

_Your mouth was, so dirty..._

            It was a good ten months before I was even interested in dating other girls.  Ironic how much in love I was that I had to push her away.  I hadn't even realized how much she meant to me until she was gone.

            I met Jenn at a superbowl party that my roomate threw.  Joey had invited basically every hot girl he knew (which was a lot), and in true Joey form, very few men.  The day I take dating advice from Joey is the day hell freezes over, but for some reason the conversation we had before the party had an impact on me.

            "Man, look.  I know you had something great with her... But its been like a year."

            "No it hasn't.  It's been ten months." I argued.

            "Okay, fine.  It's been ten months.  And you haven't been on a single date.  Not one.  Not even... for casual sex!"

            "Okay, that's because I'm not _you."_

            "Don't get me wrong, okay, I liked her a lot, and I was rooting for you two.  But Chandler... it's over, and you need to accept that.  You need to move on."

            "Joey, you don't-"

            "Don't tell me I don't understand, because I do understand.  And so does Phoebe, and so does Mitch.  Because we knew you before her, and then we knew you with her, and now we see you after her... and it's like you're a different person.  And none of us wanted to say anything, because we knew you were hurting... but it's been too long Chandler.  You've been like this for too long."

            "Joey... I'm sorry if I haven't been... myself lately.  It's just... I miss her you know?"

            "I know, man.  But I think- we all think- you need to get back out there.  It's the first step to getting over her."

            "Maybe.  Or maybe its the first step to realizing I'll never love anyone again." I chuckled bitterly.

            "Chandler, that's stupid.  Do you even KNOW how many hot girls are coming here tonight???  And there's this one you have to meet.  Her name is Jenn.  I think she'll be perfect for you!  And Phoebe helped pick her out, so don't worry."

            "Right, because Phoebe's taste in women is impeccable, I'm sure." I said dryly.

            "Does that mean you'll meet her?"

            "Sure.  Why not?" I answered, at first to appease him, until I realized that everything he had said was the truest thing I'd let myself hear since she left.

            Jenn was smart, funny, and easy to talk to.  She knew I was getting over a relationship, and she didn't push me.  We started seeing eachother casually.  For once, my friends had made an ok choice.

            Mitch, Phoebe and Joey were ecstatic that their matchmaking plan had seemed to pan out.  

            "Did you sleep with her yet?" Joey had asked after a few weeks.

            "Joey!" Phoebe had exclaimed, smacking him.  "Did you?"

            "Yeah." I admitted.  "It was... different."

            "Different good?" Phoebe asked.

            "Um... yeah.  Yeah, I think it was." 

            "This is great.  You're doing the right thing." Mitch told me, accompanied by a pat on the back.

            "Jenn's gonna be great for you!" Phoebe said, all bubbly, and I stirred my coffee.

            And Jenn is great.  She's really smart, and she likes me a lot, and she's fun to be around.  She might be a little... overbearing at times.  And so she doesn't like it when I curse, big deal, right?  Somehow it is a big deal sometimes.  Maybe because Monica couldn't have cared less.

_Life of the party_

_And she swears that she's artsy_

_But you could distinguish_

_Miles from Coltrain..._

_Our love was comfortable and_

_So broken in..._

_she's perfect, so flawless,_

_or so they say..._

            Everyone loves Jenn, especially at parties, because she's just fun.  She's easy to talk to, and quick to laugh.  Which is good, for me, because I make a lot of stupid jokes.  But sometimes her laughter seems... almost forced.  And she's so determined to come off as intelligent and artsy that it's practically transparant.  

            One night, after we had gone out to dinner, I suggested this great jazz club that I had heard about at work.  Jenn didn't want to go, had said jazz was "pretentious" and if I wanted to do something art-y, why didn't we go to that new exhibit at the Metropolitan, or she could get tickets to the Met on Friday, and didn't I just love the Met, didn't I think it was absolutely _scintillating..._

            Monica loved jazz.  We used to go to this club on 23rd and Broadway every once and a while, before it had closed.  We used to listen, drink, talk, dance.  She almost knew more about Coltrain than I did.  _Almost._

_She thinks I can't see the smile that she's faking_

_The poses for pictures that are being taken_

_I loved you, grey sweatpants_

_No makeup... so perfect..._

            Somethign about Jenn... about our relationship... seemed so fake.  Like how she always laughed a little too hard at a joke that was a little too stupid.  Monica would roll her eyes and tell me I was a dork.  And yeah, she's just being nice.  But it's like... not real, you know?  She's just trying too hard.  And I don't want to hurt her, because she's a great person... and I don't want to disappoint my friends, because they care so much about me.  

            It's like, she's always dressed up, you know?  Even when we're just hanging out, watching a movie, she has her makeup all done.  And when she stays over, it's like its premeditated, because she has a bag with her every time, and when we wake up, she gets dressed up again and even brings a hairdryer.  Monica used to stay over whenever she felt like it.  She'd fall asleep in my old t-shirts.  She'd hang out with me and Joey watching movies, wearing a tank top and grey sweatpants.  And she was beautiful, more radiant than Jenn somehow. 

_Our love was comfortable and_

_So broken in_

_She's perfect_

_So flawless_

_I'm not impressed_

_I want you back._

            I went to dinner a couple hours ago, only a few minutes late.  I broke up with Jenn.  I had to, it didn't feel right, me having all these doubts and her sitting there, all happy and thinking everything's great.  She wasn't right for me.  I told her I just wasn't ready for another girlfriend.  She was disappointed, she said, but she understood and told me to call her if I felt like going out again.  We didn't have dessert.

            I'm home now, staring at the phone, trying to get up my nerve.  And really, who knows if she's still at the same phone number, at the same apartment, or even in the same city.  But I know that if I don't pick up the phone and call her, I'll never forgive myself.

            My fingers fly over the seven digits with a memory all their own.  The phone rings four times, and when I'm about to hang up someone answers.

            "Hello?"

            My mouth is dry.

            "Hello???... Hello?  Chris if this is you again-"

            "Rachel?" I ask hoarsely.

            "Yeah...", Monica's roomate answered suspiciously.

            "It's Chandler... Is Monica home?"

            "Chandler- hi.  Um... yeah hang on.  I'll get her."

            I don't even know what I'm going to say.  And then suddenly I do.  It's so simple.

            I want you back.


	2. The Phone Call

**author's note:  thanks to those who reviewed the first part, I really appreciated it, since it was my first effort and everything, so the feedback was awesome.            I wasn't going to continue with it, but inspiration hit me, so I did ****J****  Hope you like the next part…**

**disclaimer:  don't own anything, promise.**

**xoxo, Madelyn.**

This night has been… surreal.

I was mid-blow dry when Rachel stuck her head in my door and said the phone was for me.  

            "Who is it?" I asked.  Rachel covered the receiver with her hand and looked hesitant.  

            "Okay, don't freak out."

            "Okay." I said suspiciously.

            "It's Chandler," she said quietly.  I froze.  

            "Shut up." I finally managed to get out.  "Wh- what- Why?" 

            "Here," she said, motioning for me to get the phone.  

            He called.  We hadn't talked in over ten months, and then he just calls?  Out of the blue?  What _is_ that?  I was not prepared for this.  I didn't want to talk to him, my head said as my body moved toward Rachel and the inevitable melting tones of the voice I couldn't handle.  And then I broke out of my little trance.

            "I'm not answering that.  Tell him I'm not here," I whispered fervently.

            "Monica, come on.  I told him I'd get you, and it's been like three minutes."

            "So you can't find me.  I've… I'm in the shower, I must have just ran out.  Pick something, be creative!" I said urgently.

            "Monica.  Take this phone right now, and talk to him."

            "NO."

            "Mon.  You've been waiting for this phone call since September.  You're taking it," my so-called best friend said, forcing the phone in my hands.  I cleared my throat as Rachel left my room.

            "Hello?" I said in my best 'I'm fabulous-never better-I barely remember your name' sort of way.  Which, you have to admit, is a lot to pull off with one word. 

            "Hey."  His voice was softer than I expected.  Almost like a whisper.  

            "Uh… hey."  I wanted to die.  'UH?'  Who says 'uh'??? Do confidant, self-sufficient, mature women say 'uh'?  Noooo.  

            "It's Chandler," he said.  No shit.

            "I know."

            "Yeah, I know you know.  Not really sure why I said that," he said with a laugh.  That nervous laugh.  

            I don't really remember the rest of the conversation.  It was uncomfortable small talk, the usual "So how've you been?" I'm sure, but the actual words escape me.  The sound of his voice again brought back a flood that I'd built a perfectly constructed dam around, and it made me angry.

            He's the one that ended it.  He can say it was me, if that makes him feel better.  Because yeah, I was the one who came out and said the actual words, but it was over well before I grew the courage to do that.  What we had was… I _thought_ it was the real thing.  And I'm not naïve enough to believe that my first serious relationship, a year and a half out of college, would have necessarily ended in happily ever after, but you know what?  Maybe it would have.  And I know that's what scared him off.

            Granted, I am twenty-four years old, and he's twenty-six.  That's young, I know.  But what I can't understand is what spooked him in the first place.  Nothing happened that would normally provoke that kind of reaction… I didn't have a key to his apartment, we weren't talking about moving in together, I had even suppressed on several occasions the desire to ask him his ideas about marriage and kids.  Maybe it was because I was staying over more than I used to, or maybe it was something his mom said, or Joey said, or the god damned President of the United States said, but I'm as stumped now as I was then.

            He wanted to take a break and see other people.  The second those words left his lips, my heart sank.  I gave it two weeks, to let the news settle in, see if maybe a little space would really help us both.  We saw each other three times in those two weeks, and on the third time, I knew it could never work.  I had invested too much of myself in him.  The only logical thing for me to do, the only thing that wouldn't be self-destructive, was to cut my losses.

            He tried to reason me out of it.  But the damage was done, because the truth was that if he was freaking out now, about nothing, for no reason, then what happened later, when our relationship really did need to move forward?  I couldn't take another, probably more intense, "break" from him in a year.  It would be the same for the rest of our lives.  His stupid commitment issues weren't going away, and I wasn't the one for him, the one that could make that stuff not matter.

            For the last ten months, I analyzed and re-analyzed the outcome of the relationship, the one and only time I've been in love in my entire life.  I sulked in post breakup mode for about four months until Rachel forced me on a blind date with some guy she works with, Alex, who I casually dated for the next two months before I broke it off with him.  It was too soon.

            But since then, it's been almost four months, and I really felt like I'd come a long way with all of this stuff.  Like I was myself again, learning all over who I was and what I wanted.  And then, on a whim, with one phone call, he can erase all that.  That makes me furious, at him and at myself, at the world.  I had convinced myself that I was over him, that our relationship was a growth experience that I had needed and that I had moved on.  Then the phone rings, and as much as I want to deny it, the sound of his voice made my pulse race, and his friendly words made my long buried hopes soar, and his laughter made me smile and I felt more alive than I had since September.

            These were the things I couldn't stop thinking about as I tried to force myself to sleep that night.  You know when you're so tired, and lying in bed, how everything suddenly seems brilliant?  Every idea feels a million times smarter than it would if you were fully awake?  The next thing I knew I was pulling on a denim jacket over my tank top and flannel flowered pajama pants, slipping on my sneakers and taking the subway to his apartment.

            And, of course, it was raining, because come on, this experience wouldn't be nearly as cinematic if I wasn't completely drenched by the time I pounded on his door (which, if you're interested, was approximately 2:39 in the morning, but I can't be sure, because as luck would have it the rain ruined my watch).

            So now, welcome to the present tense, as I stand here waiting for him to open the door with absolutely no idea why I came or what I want to say.  The door opens after a few seconds that feel like centuries, and there he is, in his boxers and his ugly blue bathrobe, with his hair all messy and spiky, and his blue eyes glassy from sleep.  He sees me.  He's immediately more awake.

            "Monica… uh, hi-" he starts.  I cut him off.

            "How could you just call me like that?" I ask, my mouth moving with absolutely no signal from my brain.

            "Um… well, I picked up the phone, and dialed your number, and then you answered," he joked nervously.

            "Don't.  Don't do that.  I'm talking now, okay?  Seriously, Chandler, I want to know what possessed you to pick up the phone and call me after ten months?  Was it just like, oh, I'm kind of bored, there's nothing on TV, maybe I'll go turn Mon's world completely upside down?"

            "Monica-"

            "Stop, I'm not finished.  Chandler, I have spent the last ten months of my life trying to convince myself that I'm totally over you.  And you know what?  There was a time… well, namely, yesterday… that I would be completely embarrassed for you to know that.  But I'm tired, and wet, and kind of crazy right now, so-"

            "Monica, can I say something?"

            "In a minute."  I take a deep breath.  "I heard your voice tonight, and everything that I've worked for since the last time we spoke was shot to hell.  What am I supposed to do with this, Chandler?  You calling on a whim to catch up?  Seriously, what the hell do I do with that?" I stand there.  He stands there.  "You say things now."

            "I don't know what to say.  I don't know why I called you, it was a stupid, stupid thing to do-"

 And now I'm kissing him.  I throw my arms around his neck and push my mouth onto his, and before he can even finish talking or I can even stop to think, I'm kissing him. And then, he's kissing me back.  We move in to his apartment and the door slams and I'm pushed up against it and we're sharing this amazing kiss.  

            He pushes his tongue into my mouth and I reach up and grab his hair, and my brain is no longer functioning, because if it were it would definitely tell me to knock it off.  And secretly, I'm kind of glad it's not there telling me to stop because otherwise I wouldn't be here with him, indulging in this pleasure that's both exciting and familiar.  His left hand moves back and forth around my waist and finally hovers at the hem of my tank top, nervously wondering if it would be crossing a line, and I don't know what I'm doing but I take his hand and guide it inside my shirt.  We stand there, making out against the door, for what could have been five minutes or an hour, I'm not sure.  He's kissing my neck now, and I lean my head against the door, giving him easier access.  

            "I wanna answer you… from before…" he whispers huskily between kisses.

            "Hmm?" I ask, finding his mouth again.  I don't remember before.

            "Why I called… I called because…"  

            "Shhh…" I silence him with more kisses, entwine his legs with mine, desperate for him to stop talking, because the more he says, the more my brain is slowly reviving itself, and the sooner I know my consciousness will return and this will be over.

            "Mon… on the phone…" he trails off as I suck on his earlobe passionately.  "I called to tell you I miss you…" I squeeze my eyes shut and trail butterfly kisses down to his neck.  He needs to just stop talking.

            "I want you back," he murmurs into my still dripping hair.  

            I pull away as he goes to kiss me again.  

            "What?"

            "I love you." he says simply, in this sweet way that makes my heart melt and pisses me off at the same time.  He leans in.

            "Stop," I say, pushing him off of me.  

            "What?  What's the matter?"

            "I- I gotta go."

            "Monica, wait.  Stop.  Don't do this," I can vaguely hear him plead.

            "I just… I need to not be here." I say, my mind a frenzy of different thoughts.  I'm halfway home before I realize I'm crying.


	3. Taking it Slow

**Author's Note:  Wow, thank you all for the reviews!!! I never thought I'd be a review junkie, but I am… Keep it up please!**

**Here's part three… there's a lot more dialogue in this part, because it's necessary that they talk at some point if this story is going to go anywhere.  Also, what do you think about my alternating the point of view?  I think when I wrote Monica's I just sort of spoke through her, so it was a lot easier than Chandler's, which is becoming a lot more of a challenge.  Is the story still believable when I write as Chandler?  Okay that's it, just wondering.  Enjoy!**

**xoxo,**

**Madelyn.**

**disclaimer:  I own nothing.**

I spent the first five minutes of this morning trying to convince myself that what happened last night was a dream.  After all, it did have a distinct dream-like quality, her yelling at me one second and us making out against the door the next.  But every detail was so well accounted for; what she was wearing, how she was soaking wet, the way her blue eyes flashed at me, first in rage and then in passion… how she left.  So, I argued with myself, it was a very real feeling dream.  And then I put my robe on, the blue flannel one that she used to make fun of all the time.  And it smelled like her.  It had that distinct scent of her flowery shampoo, and that soap she uses, the minty one that I love so much.  It had happened.

            The phone rang at nine thirty, and I raced to it, hoping in vain that it was her.  But it was just Joey, calling from whatever girl of the week's room he was in, telling me to he'd be home in a few hours.  

            It rang again at ten, and I moved slower, not allowing myself to hope again, because I'd spent the time in between the last phone call and this phone call ridiculously disappointed.  It was Phoebe.

            "Did you break up with Jenn last night?" came her indignant voice.  

            "Was that seriously last night?  Seems like a week ago," I answered, pouring myself another cup of coffee.

            "So you did, then?"

            "Yeah.  I'm sorry Phoebes… it just wasn't working."

            "I thought you guys were doing really well!" she whined.

            "I wasn't ready, I guess."

            "Chandler, please tell me you didn't break up with Jenn because of Monica.  Because if you say you did, I might have to go throw up my breakfast then come beat the shit out of you," Phoebe said, and I could practically see her rolling her eyes.

            "Phoebe I really need to talk to you about something."

            "What?  Your stupid hang up on this woman who's been out of your life for almost a year?  Your complete inability to see how great Jenn was for you?  Your-"

            "Phoebe, I called Monica last night and she came over and yelled at me and then we made out," I interrupted quickly.

            "Be right over."

            This is what I love about my friends.

          I recounted the whole story to Phoebe.

            "So she just ran out?" she asked when I finished.

            "Pretty much."

            "Without saying anything?" 

            "No, she said a lot of stuff."

            "Pre make out or post?" Phoebe said pointedly.

            "Mostly pre," I admitted.  "She was pissed off at me for calling her.  She said she was just starting to get her life back together and that I was an asshole for making her question all that."  I felt myself start to grin in spite of the situation.

            "Why are you smiling?" Phoebe asked incredulously.

            "I don't know… it's just good to know she isn't over me, you know?" 

            "No.  Nothing about this is good, Chandler.  Don't you see what you did?  You scared her!  You're so used to being the one who freaks out you can't even see it when you're the source of the freak-out."

            "You're making no sense, Phoebe," I said impatiently.

            "Chandler.  Calling her was a huge, colossal, gigantic mistake.  I don't get you, it took you so long to get over her and you celebrate that by calling her?"

            "Come on Phoebe… I was never over her.  I was pretending, for you, for Joey and Mitch, for Jenn… and for me.  But I never stopped loving her." I said quietly.

            "So what does this mean?" she asked after a long pause.

            "I don't know.  I asked you to come over so you could help me figure this out, because I just don't get it Phoebe… one second she's yelling at me, the next we're kissing, then she's running away.  I don't get it."

            "Women," Phoebe snorted.  We both start laughing.

            "Seriously though… what should I do now?" I ask her.

            "Nothing!  You do absolutely nothing now, do you hear me?" she said sternly.  "Chandler," she began more gently, "You know I like Monica a lot, right?"

            "Sure."

            "And I think the two of you had something really special.  But you went and screwed it up, and you can't just call her up and think it's fixed."

            "I know that, but-"

            "But nothing.  She loved you, and you broke her heart, and even if it meant that you broke your own heart in the process you need to give her time to re-adjust."

            "I'm not the one who rushed anything!  I didn't even tell her I wanted us to get back together until she came over and practically attacked me!"

            Phoebe rolled her eyes.  "Oh yeah.  I'm sure you put up a huge fight, too."

            "Okay, fine, maybe I escalated things a little.  But the fact remains that _she_ came to see _me-"_

            "To yell at you," Phoebe interjected.

            "And _she kissed __me-"_

            "Overcome by confused emotions, no doubt," Phoebe pointed out.

            "And _she ran out on __me." I finished._

            "Exactly.  So now you need to let _her_ come to _you_."

            I thought about that.  "Okay, well, that makes a little bit of sense.  But what if she doesn't-"

            "She will," Phoebe smiled.  "Trust me."

            "Thanks Phoebe.  For everything," I said, giving my best friend a hug.  

            "No problem.  Just promise you'll listen to me and not do anything else that will potentially ruin you."

            "Promise."

            So then Joey and Mitch came in, and I had to go into the whole thing all over again, and get advice from a male perspective, which, honestly, I really did not need.  Phoebe sat there arguing the female side of things and I basically let the three of the duke it out.  Joey's position was that Monica was "hot", and apparantly I was not, so she automatically had the upper hand and was waiting for me to call her.  Mitch argued that I had thrown my chances with her out the window because I hadn't ran after her.  Phoebe considered them both morons, and was the only one who thought I stood half a chance with her after what had happened.

            Truth be told, I was barely listening.  My mind was with her, replaying the last night's scene over and over again in my head, trying to recreate the softness of her lips on mine, the urgency of her tongue as it tangled with my own, the smooth feeling of her skin under my hands as she let them roam her body.

            I was jerked from my reverie, and my friends from their debate, by a hesitant knock on the door.  Joey, being the closest, stood and answered it.  I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding when the door swung open to reveal Monica.

            "Hey Joey," she said hesitantly.  I could sense how unsure she was, knowing how close Joey and I were… she was obviously nervous about his feelings toward her now that we had broken up.  Joey let her dangle for a moment before grinning and enveloping her in a huge bear hug.

            "Hey Mon, long time no see.  Come on in."  She walked inside and Phoebe got up to give her a hug.

            "Hey Monica, how've you been?" Phoebe asked with a slight smile that told her she knew exactly what had happened and was wondering how, in fact, she was planning on fixing this mess.

            "Not bad, how about you?"

            "Fine.  Me and Mitch and Joey were just going out to lunch."

            "I just ate br-" Joey started as Mitch elbowed him in the ribs.

            "Yeah, sorry we can't stay, it was great to see you Monica," Mitch said, and the three of them hurried out of the apartment.  It was just the two of us.

            "So listen-" I started at the same time she began with "About last night-".  We chuckled nervously, and she gave me a shy smile.  "You go." I said, remembering Phoebe's advice.

            "Okay.  So here's the thing.  I was really a huge jerk last night, and I understand if you hate me.  I can't believe that I just ran out of here like that."

            "I don't hate you.  I'm confused, but I don't hate you."

            "Yeah.  I'm confused too.  Chandler… I don't know why I came here last night, something made me, some force bigger and stronger than me.  And once I got here, I just started talking, you know, and I didn't even know what I was saying.  And then… and then there was the kiss."

            "I think it was a little more than one kiss," I said quietly.

            "Yeah… I'm really sorry about that.  I know that I initiated it, and I take full responsibility for that," she said, staring at her shoes.

            "I'm only sorry about the part when you left."  She looked up at me quickly, her blue eyes surprised.  I noticed how beautiful she looked, even with her hair causally piled on top of her head and wearing jeans and a white button down shirt.  She was breathtaking.

            "I've thought about this all night and all morning, and I think I can explain myself," she said confidantly, and it took all I had in me not to start laughing at her professional approach.

            "By all means, go ahead."

            "Okay, here I go.  When I came here, I just wanted to yell at you, right?  And I did that.  But I didn't consider the fact that you might talk back.  And the second I stopped talking, the second I was given a chance to really see you, you know?  And I had nothing to distract me from hearing your voice and looking at you… and it was just too much, and I hadn't counted on… well, the feelings… coming back so intensly.  And when I kissed you… I didn't know what I was doing, it was like I was sleepwalking.  And then once we were kissing, it was like I was gone, you know?  I wasn't myself.  I was just completely focused on you, and us making out, and how… great it felt.  I wasn't thinking about the consequences, and for that I'm sorry," she stopped to take a breath.

            "Okay… but I still don't understand why you left."

            "You said you loved me!" she blurted out, then covered her mouth with her hand.  She took a deep breath.  "Chandler, I wasn't expecting that, you caught me off guard… I mean, kissing was great and everything, but I wasn't ready for you to come out and say you wanted us to get back together.  It scared me.  It scared me back into reality, and I realized what I was doing was setting us both up for a big fall all over again," she finished.  I took a step closer to her.

            "Monica?"

            "Yeah?" she asked, nervously aware of the closing distance between us.

            "I'm not sorry you came over.  And I'm definitely not sorry we kissed.  But there are a lot of things I am sorry for.  And honestly, I don't care whether or not you're ready to hear them, because they need to be said," I told her, taking another step towards her.

            "Okay…"

            "I'm sorry I let my own stupid commitment stuff become an issue in our relationship, because you are the one thing in my life I wasn't afraid of being committed to.  I'm sorry I hurt you.  I'm sorry I let you down.  And I'm sorry I let myself down," I took another step towards her.  We were close enough to touch now.  I cautiously took her hands in mine.  "I'm sorry I lost you, I'm sorry we both had to suffer for the last few months.  And I'm sorry that last night upset you."  I looked directly into her eyes, which were misty with tears.

            "Are you finished?" she asked.

            "One more thing," I said, giving her absolutely no warning as I leaned in and captured her lips with mine.  My heart stopped beating for the three seconds it took for her to respond and kiss me back, and the blood rushed through my veins with indescribable relief.  She let me explore her mouth with my tongue and she ran her hands up and down my back, but when I started trailing little kisses from her neck to her collarbone, she resisted.

            "Chandler… wait.  Stop," she whispered as I sucked on her neck.

            "What's wrong?" I asked, alarmed.  "Don't even think about running out of here," I warned in a stupid nervous joke.

            "I think… this is just moving a little too fast for me.  Can we… slow down a little… talk this out?" she pleaded, her eyes filling with tears.

            "Of course, hey, please, don't cry… come on, sit down.  We'll talk."

            "Okay…"

            We sat down on the couch and no one said anything for what seemed like a really long time.  

            "Say something, please," I finally asked softly.

            "I don't know what's happening here," she said, averting my glance.  "I want it to be simple, I want for us to kiss and have time travel back ten months, but that can't happen."

            "I know.  But Monica, I can't waste another second of my life without you.  I love you, okay?  You know that, right?"

            "Yes.  I love you too, I never stopped… but we can't just jump back into this like nothing happened."

            "So let's take it slow," I said.  "Anything, as long as we're together."

            "Together," she said with a smile.  "I like that."

            "Mon, I love you.  I promise you, I'm never going to hurt you, ever again."

            "I promise you I'll never run out when things get confusing," she said, taking my hand.

            "So… am I allowed to kiss you?"

            "Nope," she said as she stood up.

            "No?" I asked, disappointed.

            "Technically, this is before the first date, because we're starting over.  And nice girls don't kiss on the first date," she said with an impish smile.

            "Oh, I get it, nice girls just come banging on their ex-boyfriend's doors at two in the morning and make out with them against the wall."

            "Shut up," she said, punching my arm.  And the fact that we were joking around with eachother was the best feeling I can imagine. 

"I might need help with this, you know.  This whole taking it slow thing.  I'm not sure where we are," I said softly, rubbing her arm.  God, I had missed being this close to her.

 "I'm going to be here to help you.  For instance, I'm leaving now.  And you'll call me later," she instructed.

"You got it," I said, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek.  

            I have no idea what we are, but I've never felt happier.


	4. The ReFirst Date

Reviews are wonnnnddderrrfullll!!! Here's part four, enjoy!  I wrote this in like a twelve seconds because it's from Monica's pov, and lets face it, girls just make more sense J  please review, I don't know if I'm going to write another chapter or end it here.

disclaimer:  I don't own anything.

I've been smiling nonstop for the past twenty four and a half hours.  I look like a moron, but I don't even care.  Chandler and I are back together.

            I was met with an overly excited Rachel when I came home, and the two of us decided to discuss the whole situation over soup and salads at our favorite cafe around the block.  After lunching with afore-mentioned squealing roomate, I went through the rest of my day, doing the stupid stuff that I usually do on a Saturday; grocery shopping with Rach, running little errands, and, of course, cleaning up the apartment.  And none of these activities had ever been quite as much fun as they were today.

            My parents and my brother Ross came over for dinner tonight, and even that was more enjoyable than usual.  Of course, my mom set in on me after three seconds, but I've learned how to tune her out after twenty four years.

            "Monica, the place looks wonderful," she said while fluffing a pillow.  My mother likes her actions to always contridict her words.  

            "Thanks," I said, serving the lasagne I'd made sometime in between grocery shopping and cleaning on cloud 9.  

            We talked about me and my job, Ross and his son, Ben, what the two of us had been up to with Rachel, when Ross and Rachel were going to start going out (which made me laugh because the answer to that would be _never), and, finally, my love life (or, according to my mother, lack thereof)._

            "So Monica, I ran into Dan Sherman the other day," she said slyly, as if this was supposed to hold any kind of specific meaning.

            "Okay... who's Dan Sherman?" I asked while clearing the table.

            "Oh, you remember Dan, you two went to camp together!"

            "But I never went to camp," I said.

            "Yes you did!  You went to Camp Hopatchi for a couple of summers," my mother argued.

            "No, that was Rachel, and I wanted to go but you and dad wouldn't let me."

            "Oh.  Right.  Well, anyway, I guess Rachel went to camp with Dan.  But you definitely met him once or twice.  And he remembers you!"

            "Really, well, that's pretty amazing, considering I'm almost positive I never met any of Rachel's camp friends," I said sarcastically, while my brother kicked my ankle under the table, an annoying habit carried from when we were teenagers that occurred whenever I got too "fresh" with the parental unit.

            "And he said he'd be interested in catching up with you, over dinner some night," my mom continued, as if she had never stopped talking. 

            "Mom, I'm not going on a date with some guy Rachel went to summer camp with in fifth grade that I've never met."

            "Monica, you don't have to act so haughty about it, it's really not like you have hundreds of prospects lined up at your door," she said, hurt.

            "Now, Judy, Monica doesn't need men in her life!  She's perfectly content to live alone, aren't you sweetie?" my dad asked, earnestly thinking this was a compliment.

            "Thanks for thinking of me mom, but I think I'll pass," I said through clenched teeth.

            "Dear, it's just that since you broke up with Chandler you really haven't really put yourself back out there at all."  I love how she makes me sound like a prostitute.

            "Yes, how is Chandler, have you spoken to him recently?" asked my brother innocently, with a smirk that let me know Rachel had made a phone call at some point during the day to discuss the events of the previous night with my brother.

            "It really is such a shame that you couldn't hang on to that one.  Chandler was such a nice man," my mother added.  

            Now this is the kind of comment that makes me want to laugh hysterically and start crying in frustration.  My parents did not like Chandler at all while we were going out.  They thought he was immature, that his job was boring and that he wasn't interested in a future with me.  The entire year that we dated, my mom was secretly still trying to set me up with other men that kept popping up from my elementary school days. 

            "Mom, you hated Chandler," I pointed out as I passed out dessert forks.

            "I most certainly did not!" she exclaimed indignantly.  "I may have thought he was a little immature at times, but I liked him very much."

            "Oh, well good," I said, "because we've decided to give it another try."

            "Oh honey," she said while wincing, "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

            I excused myself before I lit her on fire instead of the cherries jubilee.

            Dinner went on as you can imagine, but even my mom couldn't bring me down from the high I was on.  I hadn't expected Chandler to call that day, but I was still a little disappointed as I hopped into bed around eleven thirty when he hadn't.  As if on cue, the phone rang.  I answered it before it could wake up Rachel.

            "Hello?"

            "Hey," came Chandler's voice.  

            "Hi," I answered, inwardly laughing at how shy my voice sounded.

            "I wasn't going to call tonight," he started, "you know, I was gonna wait until tomorrow and maybe come off as a little cooler than I am.  But I had to hear your voice for a second, to make sure this whole thing is real."  Seriously, who says that?  Why does he always say the exactly right thing???

            "I'm glad you called."

            "So... how are you?" he asked hesitantly; I wanted that nervous tone out of his voice.

            "Chandler?  I'm not going to change my mind.  So push that out of your head, okay?" I said.  He laughed.

            "I'll try harder."

            "I had dinner with my parents tonight," I told him after a few moments.  He audibly winced.

            "Oooh, I'm sorry," he said laughing.

            "Yeah I'm sure you're devestated that you missed it," I teased, surprised at how easy it was to slip back into how we used to be.

            "And I'm sure your parents have sorely missed me," Chandler retorted.

            "Well apparantly my mom likes you as long as we aren't together."

            "She has some things to get used to, then, I guess," he said.

            "Yup."

            "So the reason I'm calling is to ask you out on an official date," he said, his tone changing to businesslike.

            "Yes, well, then let's get right down to it," I said mocking him.

            "Tomorrow night?  Dinner, dancing, strictly no kissing."

            "Tomorrow is kind of short notice, don't you think?" I said.

            "You have other plans?" he asked, unable to hide the disappointment that crept into his voice.

            "No.  Just kidding." 

            "Now was that anyway to start a relationship, Monger?" he scolded.

            "Sorry I couldn't resist.  Tomorrow's great.  Oh and word to the wise- I'd hold off on the derogatory nicknames until at least date three."

            "Thank you for your advice.  I'll see you around seven?"

            "Sounds perfect.  Bye," I said.

            "Bye."

            Neither of us hung up.

            "We're both wanting to say it," he pointed out.

            "Yeah," I agreed.

            "So… maybe I should just do it, ya know, get it over with."

            "I think that would be best." I said, grinning.

            "Iloveyou," he said quickly, as if it was one syllable.

            "What was that?" I teased.

            "Don't be a jerk!"

            "Love you too," I said quietly.  There was a brief pause.

            "Think this will get any less awkward?" he asked through a laugh.

            "Let's hope so," I said before an onset of the giggles.

            Saturday night was perfect.  It was the perfect, perfect date.  He showed up exactly on time, not five minutes early (over-eager) or five minutes late (irresponsible).  I'm a huge fan of puncuality.

            He looked… amazing.  He had on khakis and this blue shirt that made his eyes stand out and a tie that I gave him once for his birthday.  And his hair was all cute he was kind of shy and it was all I could muster not to pull another one of my 2 am make out attacks.

            Rachel had ever so kindly decided that nothing I owned was "hot" enough to impress him on our "re-first date", as my brother named it, so we'd spent the day shopping.  Shopping for a date with Rachel is very challenging work.  The fact that I wanted to avoid invisible skirts and belly button bearing shirts and plunging necklines was a foreign concept to her.  We finally decided on what Rachel considered to be a look that said "Hi, I'm Monica, I look sexy in a sophisticated, tasteful way.  Also, I really regret missing out on the past ten months with you, but I am not going to sleep with you tonight."  What garment could possible have this range of vocabulary, you ask?  Apparantly, a red slip dress with paisley embroidery that I ridiculously overpaid for at Bloomingdale's and my strappy burgundy sandals.  Go figure.  

            I'm not sure if he heard the entire message that the red dress was trying to convey, but he did give me an appreciative nod when I answered the door.  After catching up with Rachel for a few minutes, we were out on the town.

            He took me to our old favorite, this jazz club on ninth, where we had a few drinks and danced and talked for almost three hours.  I told him everything I'd done since September, and he told me.  I was kind of surprised when he told me he had just broke up with the Jenn person like not even a week ago, but I understood that things had been moving fast and now, we were slowing down, and it was fine.

            "So, this Alex guy…" he started.  I smiled.

            "Yeah."

            "Why didn't things work out for you guys?" he asked with a hint of jealousy in his voice.

            "I don't know.  It was too soon for me.  He was a nice guy, but… we didn't fit," I tried to explain.  "How about you and, what, Jess?" I said, loathing myself for deliberately screwing up her name.  He didn't correct me, which I loved.

            "She wasn't you," he said simply, covering my hand with his.  I had only had two glasses of wine, but I felt completely drunk.  It was a mixture of the alcohol, his hand touching mine, the romantic setting, the fact that our faces were so close I could feel him breathing, the way he looked with the shadows casting on his face from the flickering candle on the table… I was gone.  

            "Hey," I started slowly, "Remember that whole no kissing thing?"

            "Yeah, I vaguely remember something about no kissing," he replied quietly, rubbing my cheek with his thumb.

            "I think we might want to re-think that.  The no kissing thing," I said moving slightly closer.

            "What no kissing thing?" he asked, leaning in and brushing his lips against mine softly, quickly, then looking into my eyes and when I didn't resist, going in for a longer, more passionate kiss.

            "Oh my god, I am _such_ a slut," I said, burying my face in his chest the next morning.  He laughed.

            "Monica, you are not a slut."

            "I'm _such_ a slut!" I insisted.  "I totally just had sex with you!"

            "Four times," he said, beaming with pride.  I laughed, then punched him in the shoulder.

            "This is serious!  I wasn't even supposed to kiss you!"

            "Yeah, well, those were stupid rules.  Rules that were made for people in easier situations," he said consolingly, rubbing my arm.

            "Sure, sure, you'll say anything, you just got some," I quipped.

            "If it makes you feel any better, I don't think any less of you as a woman," he joked.

            "Oh, you're going down," I said, wiggling out and pinning him to the bed before kissing him passionately.  He put his arms around me an pulled me closer.  I entwined our hands and placed them gently above his head before trailing butterfly kisses from his forehead to his chest.  He groaned and tried to take control of the situation.

            "Hey, where do you think you're going?" I murmered into his ear, planting sweet kisses on his earlobe.  As I sucked on his neck, I let him break our hands apart and grip my waist.  He turned me onto my back and stopped kissing me for a second as I opened my legs so that he could lie in between them.  He brushed a stray lock of hair from my eyes.

            "You're so beautiful," he whispered.  

            "I'm already in bed with you.  You don't have to give me those lines anymore," I joked, but stopped smiling when I realized he was staring intently at me.

            "I'm serious.  I'm the luckiest man in the world," he said before our lips met in a feverish kiss.  His tongue roamed my mouth with increasing intensity, and I felt his excitement rise against my leg.  I let my hand casually brush up against him, and he moaned his name into my hair.

            "I think you've had about all you can take, Mr. Bing," I said with a little laugh in his ear.

            "Let's take care of that, shall we?" he said, resting his head in the crook of my neck.

            We got up around ten and he jumped in the shower as I started making pancakes..  Rachel came out of her bedroom with a knowing smirk on her face.

            "So, have yourself some fun last night?" she asked slyly.  I felt my face blush.

            "Yeah… about that…" I trailed off embarassed.

            "Why Monica, if I'm here, and you're here, then why is the shower running?  Who ever could be using our shower?"

            "All right, how long is this going to go on for?"

            "You little slut!  I love it!  You need to tell me everything, _everything_-" she was cut off by the bathroom door opening and Chandler coming out.  

            "Hello ladies," he said with a grin, "I'll just go get some clothes on, I guess."

            "Chandler," Rachel replied with a smile, before retreating to her own room to get dressed.  He came out while she was still in there, and wrapped his arms around me from behind while I was flipping the pancakes.

            "Hey, gorgeous," he said while kissing my shoulder.

            "Hey you." I replied, twisting to kiss his lips.

            "You look sexy in the morning," he said.  I laughed.

            "Yeah, it's the touseled hair and no make-up, I'm sure."

            "You're perfect," he replied, kissing me a few times gently and running his hands through my hair.

            "Chandler," I said through his kisses, "Rachel will be right out."  He gave me an exaggerated sigh and the puppy eyes.

            "So last night was fun," he said, changing the subject.  He was still attached to my waist.

            "Yeah, you could say that," I laughed.  "So much for taking it slow."

            He gave me one more rather lengthy kiss.

            "Slowness is way over-rated," he proclaimed.


	5. Always

**AN:  Sorry for the delay, to those of you who still like this story ****J****.  Life's been kinda crazy.  Hope you like this part, I think it'll be the last chapter!  Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer:  I don't own anything I'm not supposed to.**

          It's been three weeks exactly from the night we first slept together again.  We've been on several real dates, but mostly just hang out at my apartment or hers, talking and watching movies, kissing, and waking up together.  

          We've been actually hanging out with our friends a lot, I think because she wants her friends not to hate me for hurting her, and vice versa.  She tells me everything, and she says we need to be honest with eachother all the time.  I've only lied to her once in three weeks… and that was to tell her that her hairstyle a la Phoebe didn't look weird.

          Tonight we hung out at Central Perk, with both of our groups, for the first time in a while.  Rachel and Monica's brother Ross was there, and Phoebe and Joey came… it was a really great time.  Rachel has forgiven me for any pain I may have caused her best friend, after stern warnings, and Ross has gotten over it too.  

          Afterwards, Mon came up with me and Joey and we rented a movie… Die Hard, of course.  She was a really good sport about it, all things considered.  First of all, she didn't complain that there were only two chairs and that she had to squeeze onto the end of mine, practically in my lap.  She only rolled her eyes at the _really_ cheesy lines, only squealed at the _really _gory parts, and only threw popcorn at Joey's head when he said something _really offensive.  To tell you the truth, I don't mind the squealing part, because that's when her nose scrunches up all cute and she buries her head in my shoulder… and I can live with that._

          I can't believe I made myself miss so much of this.  I marvel at how perfectly her body fits into mine when we hug, how her head rests in the crook of my neck and my arms are the perfect length to wrap around her.  Sometimes, when I'm not with her, I miss her so much that I have to call her up just to hear her voice, so I know it's still there for me when I get back.  Weird, yes.  Sappy, definitely.  What's become of me???

          Later, when we were settling into bed, she asked me if I thought it was weird, how fast our relationship had progressed.

          "No.  I think… I think that for some people, the people who are truly meant to be together, that there can't be time limits or a logical progression of what should happen and when… things happen when they're supposed to, when they're right."  She looked at me surprised.

          "Have you been taking classes?  How do you know the right thing to say every time?!" she asked incredulously.

          "A gift I've acquired," I said nonchalantly, grinning and kissing her temple.  She snuggled up against me, throwing an arm across my chest possessively.

          "You know what?" she asked.

          "Hmm?" I asked through her sweet smelling hair.

          "I think you're the best thing that has ever happened to me," she said earnestly.  I was taken aback by her sentiment for a moment, and then I sat up to look her in those beautiful blue eyes.  I brushed a loose lock of dark hair from her face.

          "You're exactly what I never thought I deserved," I said quietly, kissing her lips softly.

          "There you go again, being all poetic.  What's gotten into you?" she teased when we parted.

          "Shut up," I said smiling, and kissed her again.  She wrapped her arms around my neck and deepened the kiss, pushed past my lips with her tongue until we were swimming in eachother fervently.  

          "Chandler?" she asked throatily.

          "Hmm?" I responded vaguely, kissing her neck and collarbone, making my way down to her breasts.

          "Promise me something," she whispered, arching her back to give me easier access.

          "Anything."

          "I want to stay wrapped up in you forever…" she murmered against my hair.  "Promise me you'll be here."  I stopped what I was doing to look her in the eyes, which were now glazed over and bright with passion.

          "Always," I said to her, meaning it for the first time in my life.

          "I love you so much," she said before pressing her lips to mine hungrily.  It was the last thing either of us said for quite a while.

          "So, do you want to get her like, clothes, or stationary or what?" asked Phoebe as we walked down the street.

          "Stationary??? She's not my _fifth grade girlfriend," I scoffed._

          "Hey!  You asked for my help, did you not?"

          "I'm sorry, I just don't think that _stationary can really convey a message, you know?"_

          "It can if you get it personalized," she said.  "Okay, okay, fine no stationary. Geez."

          "Her birthday's this Friday, and I really want to get her something… perfect," I said.

          "Well, that really narrows it down," Phoebe said rolling her eyes.  "What about jewelry?"

          "Maybe.  Something different, though.  What do girls want to get?"

          "A rock?" Phoebe supplied.

          "Not yet.  Are you _trying_ to get me to hyperventilate?"

          "Joking, calm down.  Hey, let's go in here, maybe you'll find something cool," she said, pointing to a jewelry shop across the street.

          I've been waiting to give it to her all week.  I'm insanely nervous about it, which is so stupid.  What's she gonna do, hate it and break up with me?  But I just really want to make her birthday special.

          We go out to a fancy dinner at her favorite restaurant, then to Serendipity's for sundaes, which I think is cute and charming, not immature and stupid, as Phoebe proclaimed it, and Monica agrees with me.  Nobody can pack away ice cream like my girlfriend.

          After ice cream, we decide to go for a walk in the park, even though it's kind of chilly out.  The thing I love about Monica is that she always comes prepared; she's not like one of those stupid women who wear a tiny little dress then get freezing cold later so you have to be a gentleman and give them your jacket.  First of all, she wouldn't _take_ my jacket if I tried to give it to her.  And secondly, she never needs it, because she always has her own.  But I'm getting off topic.

          We stop by a bench, and I pull her present out of my pocket.  It's a black velvet box, and when I give it to her she recoils and looks at me, surprised and, I must admit, kind of nervous.

          "Chandler… is this…"

          Aaannddd she thinks I'm proposing.  Great.

          "No!  Oh no, god, I should have got a different box.  I'm sorry, I didn't even think of it!" I rambled.  She started laughing.

          "Oh thank god.  No, it's fine, it's fine.  I was just a little surprised, is all.  Not that I- well its just that its so-  oh god where am I going with this…" she stammered nervously.  It was my turn to laugh.  I pushed the box into her palm.

          "Just open it."  She snapped open the little box and inhaled sharply at its contents.

          "Chandler… it's beautiful," she breathed.  She fingered the white gold locket gently and traced the opal that was set in the front.

          "See, the front is an opal, for you birthstone," I began, opening it for her.  "And the inside is a picture of you and me."

          I found the perfect picture, and had it shrunk on one of those picture things at the Kinkos.  We're sitting in my barca lounger, and I must have just said something funny, because she's laughing hysterically and I'm just sitting there grinning at her with my arms around her.  She looks at the picture for a while and smiles through the tears that are beginning to form in her eyes.

          "Hey… don't cry _yet… you didn't even read the inscription," I teased, flipping the charm over to reveal the message._

_My Love to You, _

_Always.___

_Chandler__._

          She broke down completely now, as I fumbled to clasp the necklace around her neck.  Once I got it, I kissed her neck gently several times.  She sniffled and fingered the necklace instinctively.

          "I don't know if you're crying because you love it, or if you're still getting over the relief of me not proposing," I joked.  She smiled briefly, then kissed me.

          "I love it.  It's the most beautiful, most precious thing anyone's ever given me.  I love it, and I love _you_," she said, kissing me again.

          "I'm glad, baby," I said, standing up and offering her my hand.

          "Oh, and for the record…" she started, throwing her arms around me in a big hug, "I would have said yes," she whispered into my ear, sending chills down my spine.  I grinned the entire way home as we walked hand in hand, in comfortable silence.


End file.
